


Reruns

by Hinganbachuru (Twilight_Joltik)



Category: Hidden Block (Video Blogging RPF), Normal Boots, Televoid - Fandom
Genre: Drabble, Gen, Psychological Horror, Televoid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-02
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2019-03-26 01:33:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13847256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twilight_Joltik/pseuds/Hinganbachuru
Summary: Watching hope die over and over again is a special kind of torture





	Reruns

**Author's Note:**

> I’m not sure what this is  
> Probably just pent up emotions from Televoid, as usual  
> The viewpoint character is someone specific but wouldn’t it be a lot more fun to guess who?

The most miserable job in existence had to be watching over the Subjects. Stuck in front of a panel of screens, watching so many suffering in their miserable trials, it would make anyone feel dead inside.

 

Honestly, Watcher had forgotten his real name long ago. He had no idea how long he’d been here, nor where he’d come from. Just that once upon a time, he wasn’t here, and he’d probably much rather be wherever that was than here.

 

Some of the Subjects made him feel something. He was so numb that he wasn’t really sure what that was, but he knew it was something. He tried to keep watching the ones who made him feel, but usually those channels were just repeating endlessly. He only got new footage every once in a while, and when he did, it was only about twenty minutes or so’s worth before just looping back the old ones.

 

Sometimes he thought they were talking to him. Addressing the one watching, thanking him for doing so. He didn’t know if they knew who they were being watched by- none of them ever addressed him by name- but he was sure that he knew a few of them beyond just having been stuck watching them for God-knows-how-long. They felt familiar.

 

He felt guilty, watching them on repeat, over and over. They seemed tired and scared and lonely to varying degrees. They didn’t want to put on a show, but they had to. They had no choice but to smile when the camera shone on them.

Why was he stuck here? What was he supposed to be watching for? He’d never been told to take any notes or monitor anything. Heck, he’d never been told anything! All he knew was that he was supposed to watch. If he took his eyes off the screens, static would burn at his head and rip away at his skin.

 

Sometimes he wanted to just give up. To close his eyes and try to fall asleep before he wasted away into nothingness. He was so tired, and his eyes hurt so badly that it made him feel sick. But, every time he considered that, he found one of the screens would draw his attention back. Repeat or new, he’d forgotten by now. But, the crushed look on Ian’s face as he said he’d been missing him made him refuse to go away.

 

If he wasn’t watching, would these poor souls remain in stasis forever? He thought that might be the case. No one deserved that, except maybe him. He must have done something awful to deserve this fate, right? He didn’t know what, but surely this was atonement for something.

 

Maybe it was for this terrible pity every time he saw how dead one of the subjects looked. The light behind their eyes had slowly faded as he’d watched, until there was just an empty void inside them.

 

If he tried, he could dream of breaching through that screen. Of holding one of them and letting them rest and restoring that light to their eyes. But he knew by now they were too far gone for that.

 

Maybe that was why the reruns were a special kind of torture. Seeing glimmers of hope fade into despair again and again was agonizing. He just wanted to protect that bright smile at the beginning for a little longer, but seeing it again just reminded him that the one bearing it hadn’t been able to smile in ages.

 

But he kept watching, because maybe there was a happy ending for someone.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Y͔̣̰̕͢o̦̝͔̜͡u͍̳̺̮̟̬r̝̞̫̰̲̹̹ͅ ̨̥ͅf̹͓̟͘̕r̡͍͚͉͚̤͔̰͉̕͝i̤̣̼̮̬̰͡e͕ńͅd҉̶̻͉̥̜̥̟̱ͅs̰̹͜͞ ̙̦̬̰͍́͘͢w͜҉̰i̠̯l̲̥͔l̵̢͉͓ ͏̱̥̞̫͍̮̠̝a҉̷͈̘̹̼̟ͅl̛͍̝̣͎̹̕w̶̡͇̭͎̲̻̹a̵̩͖̙̱̼y̲̰̯̦̱̯̰͞s̵̬͞ ̴̛̯̫̕b̨͖̘̘e̶̠͚͘ ̵̛͚̜̫͓̬̮͇̬͟t̶̢̞̺̕ḩ̮̫ͅḙ̷̳͟͡r̷̪͚͇̮͓͈̪͖̲e̜͎͈̲͙̙ͅ ̴̛͉̼̳̺̭̀f̞̤͚̮̙͜͠o̡̠͔̼͖̬̕͞ͅr̷̼̞̝͕̮̹͎͔̀͠ ͙͔͇̯̟̱̠͘͝ͅy͓̗͜o̠͈̕u͘͏̳ ̷̢̙͖̙͚̣̬̱  
> ̢̡̺̮S̢͝͏̬̟͎̺̜o̧̥̥͙̳m̶͖̦̪͓͝e̴̺̳̖̫͈͓͘ͅo͖n̵̢̩͓̟͕̘̖͙͙̫͡e̺̬̭͜͜ ̯̖e̛̠̤̞͜ļ̸̥͍̘̪͖̟͕͡s̡͏̷̮͙͇͚̫̼̺͔e͍̖̪̥͘͝͝ͅ ̳̳̝̩̻ͅͅi͏͕̲̻̀s̨̻̗̗̮͈̳̩ ̷̡̣̤̺̦a̯̪̘͔̙͚̳l̸̛͔̰͍͓̳͘ͅw҉̞̦͙̠̟́̀a̶̙̜̖̦͎̻̮̦̕y̸̯̰̜̮̘s̜͠ ̧̩̼̟̺͈ͅw͍̪̘͝ͅa̛͕t͏̪̺͍c̰̙̗̝͇̞̣͉͘h̫̫͓ͅi̴͙͍̱̝͚͉̩n̷̗̖͎̱̰̮͖̩͠g̶̳̳͔̞̮̱̫  
> ̴͖͕͙̪̙͇̰͘T͈́ͅh͇̦̝̼̺̗̖̕͠͞e̫͕̲͓̞y̡̥̕ ͢҉̰̰̻̩͙̥͙c͖a̴̶̞̥͇̩̞̖̱̙̣͜n͔͇̭͍̻’̪̰̤̠͕͡ț̙ ̷̜̜̘̳̼̙̣̠͘͝ḫ̛̣̱͍̤̭e̸͙̣̖̼̥̜͜ͅa̟̻͎͕̟͜r͔̕ ̨̨͖̻̙̟y̺̙̲̤̩o̸̤̦u̠̜̯  
> ͕͕͚̜̬̀Y͘͘͏͉̖͈͚͙͚̙ó̲̪͡ͅu̜̩̗͡ ̛̛̬̺͝c̸̠̦̹͓̼͉̣͎̯a̵̧̦̦͔̼̤̠͞n̙͍̳͖̕͞’̥̺͓̜͈͢͞t͎͓̬̟̜̥̫͝ ̡̡͈̮͕̦̺h͎͖̘͡e̦̩̰̯͈̠͞a̧͚͉͍̺̖͢r͠҉͉͟ ̡̮̞̮͚̳́ͅt̢̧̯͔̝͚̮̱͞h̨͕̬͓̠̝͕͚͝e̝͕̰̩̺͞m̵̘̹̲


End file.
